At least he finally agrees to get this situation addressed and—belatedly—assures me it’ll all be fixed. Within a week. I now believe nothing he says.
Again,asshole.
I’m moving out ASAP.
I call Patrick. “Argh!” I yell.
“Oh, hello,” he replies calmly.
“Why is everything broken?” I let out my frustration. “My upstairs neighbor’s toilet is about to fall on my head. I’m in a nice apartment, but the little stuff now feels like big stuff. There’s a shattered glass pane on the door to the patio. The caulk around the tub is so gross and moldy. The balcony railing also totally might break. As in I couldstep out there, check out a view, and it’d crumble and throw me to my death.”
There’s a long silence.
“You have a balcony?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“That’s kind of a luxury, right?”
“Shut up, but yes.”
“But you’re loving Boston still?”
“Yeah, until my bathroom ceiling collapsed.” I sprawl out on the couch. “But it is and will always be a great fucking city.”
There’s a rumbling sound in the background.
“Something else going on there, Diana?”
“No. Or maybe. Or no,” I say.
“I’ll see you soon.”
Before I can reply, he hangs up, and I suspect that he started his car ten minutes ago and that he’s now on the road from Cleveland to Boston. But surely not. That would be crazy.
I go to sleep.
And heiscrazy. Ten hours later, the doorbell in my apartment rings thirty times and wakes me from a miserable sleep. Before I can fully open the door or begin to even hug him, Patrick blows into my apartment, wearing the same leather biker jacket he had on when I first met him.
“Bathroom?” he asks.
I point him to the tragedy, and he marches ahead, assesses, and turns back.
“Nope. Too big for me to handle. Next?”
“Patrick,” I say with a smile as I sort of chase him around my place. “You’re here.”
“Of course I’m here. Let’s fix it all. And give me your landlord’s number.” He winks.
Soon after Patrick’s made a threatening phone call, full of swears and threats of lawsuits, there are people upstairs and in my bathroom, working away.
“Next?”
We make a few trips to home improvement stores to gather supplies, and then I watch and try to help as he fixes up the smaller issues.
I pick up Pino’s Pizza—the best around—and after midnight and more than a few beers, we collapse on the couch.
“Thank you. You’re entirely crazy,” I tell him.
